Freckle face

I am a canvas where a paint brush dances

leaving me mottled in glittery gold

whenever the sun and I exchange glances.

No two brushstrokes alike I am told.

I am the last autumnal breath,

bursts of amber, marigold, rust.

I know there is beauty in death,

smoldering embers turn into dust.

I am a constellation that is shifting.

Connect-the-dots and read my story.

I am untethered and drifting

in speckled and freckled glory!

I am bejeweled by the sun,

embedded with citrine and tiger’s eye.

I am a masterpiece not nearly finished

If I keep the light close by.